


Safehouse

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU from 13.03 (Patience), After he’s been resurrected, Castiel will likely show up in later chapters, Gen, Jack is an innocent puppy, Not sure about the title, Premise is pretty Dean critical, Sam is an awesome dad, Suggestions welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: Post 13.03, and after a lot of soul-searching, Sam comes to a decision: he can’t justify keeping Jack in an abusive environment.Cue the father/son bonding.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To any potential readers: as is stated in the tags (and is implied in the summary), please keep in mind that this fic will contain Dean-critical content. If you approve in any way of how Dean has behaved towards Jack (and Sam), especially towards the beginning of this season, then this is likely *not* the fic for you.

Sam was already packed, Jack waiting in a car in the garage (an old ’58 Cadillac which Sam hoped wouldn’t stand out  _too_ much) before he told Dean outright.

Dean just stared at him in complete incomprehension, dismantled gun spread out across the table in front of him, the bore brush he had gripped loosely in his hand ignored (or perhaps forgotten completely) in lieu of this new conversation.

“What the hell are you on about ‘you’re leaving’?”

Sam forced himself to straighten up and keep his gaze steady. “Exactly what I said. You can’t be around Jack right now, Dean, and it’s not good. For any of us. I’ve been trying to-” He cut himself off, all his carefully thought out reasonings suddenly seeming useless under the weight of Dean’s betrayed stare. But this had to be done. He couldn’t back out now. Not when so much was at stake. (He tried not to remember the  _last_ time he’d made a similar (but oh so different) decision. Tried not to remember the repeated accusations of ‘you chose a demon over your own brother.’ Tried not to imagine the similar accusations which would likely come  _this_ time if things didn’t go as hoped.) He  _needed_ to do this.  _Needed_ to make Dean understand.

“Cas is gone, Dean,” he explained, the loss curling in his stomach mirrored in the widening of his brother’s eyes and in the clenching of his hand. The bore brush tilted slightly with the shift in pressure. “Cas is gone, and we’re the next best thing that Jack has. We’re supposed to step in here and do what’s right- raise him the way Cas would’ve wanted to. Help him to work out that he can be  _good_. You going on about how he’s evil-”

“He  _is_  evil, Sam, and if you weren’t so-”

“You going on about how he’s evil,” Sam repeated more forcefully, his palms tingling in his effort to appear unfazed, “is doing the exact opposite. You’re piling your own issues onto him, and it’s making him miserable. You’re driving him away. And that just makes him that much more susceptible to manipulation- we’ve already seen that with Asmodeus. I won’t let history repeat itself. Not this time. Not with him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Without giving Dean time to try to convince him otherwise (and trying also not to let his mind linger on the question of whether  _he, himself_ had truly deserved the same treatment), Sam turned in the doorway, only glancing back over his shoulder because there was one last thing Dean needed to know.

“When you’ve figured that out for yourself, Dean, call me. We’ll come back when-  _if_ \- Jack can feel safe around you.”

–

Jack still wasn’t entirely certain  _why_ , exactly, Sam was taking him away. Sam had talked to him about it, of course- explained about safe environments and negative influences and what was and wasn’t acceptable for him to have to endure, but honestly he wasn’t sure why Sam seemed to think  _Jack_ , of all people, was worth it. Especially when it meant he would be moving away from the brother he  _obviously_ cared about so much. It just  _didn’t make sense_.

A sudden ray of light caught his eye, and Jack turned his head, watching as Sam entered the garage and made his way over, sliding quickly into the driver’s seat and pretty much instantly starting the engine. It was a little strange, seeing Sam instead of Dean behind the wheel, but stranger still was the blank, almost unnaturally still expression on what had, up until now, been the most expressive face he had yet encountered. The sight of it had something in Jack’s chest seizing- similar to the clench of fear he got whenever he was afraid something he’d done had proven Dean right, but this time without the actual fear included (and, somehow, much closer to physical pain because of it).

The door opened again when they were already half-way across the room, the dark shadows on Dean’s face made that much more ominous by the blackness which stretched out from his feet, twisting its way across the room and trying to entangle itself around their car. Sam kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead, though, the tightening of his fingers against the steering wheel the only sign that he’d even noticed, which meant that Jack was the only one privy to the shifting emotions which passed across Dean’s features as they drove away- the mix of anger and fear turning into something closer to determined fury and accusation as, for just a second, his eyes met Jack’s own.

For the first time, Jack wondered whether them leaving only confirmed what Dean had always been so vocal about knowing.

After all, only a true monster would break apart family, right?

They were outside before he could find a way to share his thoughts, but even if that weren’t the case Jack didn’t think he’d have been able to do so anyway- a single glance at the sheen of moisture in Sam’s eyes enough to silence even the most rebellious of protestations.

–

Conversation in the car was limited, neither inhabitant making much of any effort at all to really start any talks of substance, so Jack had plenty of time to think during the journey, even after he’d gained Sam’s permission to read some of the well-thumbed novels he discovered during a rest stop that the Hunter had packed and had become distracted by the stories contained on the pages within. When they finally stopped for good, though, three days and several hundred miles away from the Bunker, outside a single, ramshackle cabin in the middle of nowhere, he still didn’t have any real answers.

“Where are we?”

“Montana,” Sam answered, gazing at the building with an indecipherable expression. “One of the Campbell properties, so Dean doesn’t know about it. The Campbells were our mom’s family,” he clarified, no doubt anticipating the question on Jack’s lips. “All gone now, though…

“Sorry it took us so long to get here, Jack. I needed to make sure Dean couldn’t pick up the trail.”

Pulling their bags from the trunk, Sam passed them to Jack to hold as he unfolded a large sheet of plastic and tucked it over the car, before taking his own bag back and leading the way inside. The room within, once enough light had filtered in for Jack to be able to truly see it, turned out to be smaller than most of the rooms they had left behind, but still somehow larger than he had expected. Books stood in haphazard piles which crowded shelves and cupboards along every wall and in every corner, the symbols and lettering which decorated their spines reminiscent of some similar tomes he had seen in the Bunker’s library, while a single threadbare couch sat in the centre of it all, half-covering a dusty rug so faded only the basic variations in colour were visible.

“Those two rooms there have beds in them,” Sam gestured to the right, neither of them yet moving from their spot by the entrance. “There’s a kitchen through there-” the westernmost door opposite them, half-hidden behind a protruding bookcase- “and the one next to it is the bathroom. There should still be towels and soap and stuff in the cupboard under the sink in there, but I brought some extra stuff with us just in case.” Turning a sad smile Jack’s way, he twitched a single finger towards said bathroom and held out a bag Jack assumed held the extra stuff Sam had mentioned. “You should freshen up first. We can talk about what comes next once both of us have had a decent night’s sleep, yeah?”

Jack studied him for a moment, wondering how it was possible for someone to appear anxious, hopeful, sad  _and_ still so gentle all at the same time. Reaching out a single hand, he took the proffered bag with a half-smile of his own. “I think I’d like that.”

When he emerged eight minutes and twenty-three seconds later, his hair still concealed under the towel he wore draped over his head to shield his nightclothes, Sam was on the couch, sitting in the glow of a small lamp Jack hadn’t noticed before and appearing much calmer as he typed something onto his laptop. He looked up when Jack stepped forward, though, speaking softly a few seconds later.

“You done?” He smiled at Jack’s nod. “Alright. I’m gonna shower too, then. You figure out which room you want and try to settle in a bit, and I’ll sort something out for us to eat when I get out.” Then, after setting the laptop down in the centre of the couch, he withdrew his own nightclothes from the bag by his feet and made his way into the bathroom, placing an uncertain hand on Jack’s shoulder as he passed. “Hey, don’t look so anxious, okay? We got this. I promise.”

–

The bedroom farthest from the building’s entrance was smaller, but it had an uncomplicated air to it which appealed to Jack somehow so, hoping that Sam wouldn’t find it presumptive of him, he set his bag on the bed in there before making his way back into the main room and perching on the final couch cushion, waiting. By the time Sam emerged seven and a half minutes later, he was already re-immersed in the world of Harry Potter’s second year at Hogwarts, but he looked up anyway when he sensed the older man’s pause.

“Gilderoy Lockhart is a very strange person.”

“Yes he is. How does Minestrone soup sound for dinner? Only canned stuff for now, though- we’ll have to go shopping soon if we want anything fresh.”

“Is Minestrone soup good?”

Sam just shrugged. “I like it. You might not. But we can always find you a different flavour if it’s not your thing.”

“You won’t be angry? Dean would probably be angry.”

Something dark and sorrowful, yet also tinted with wistful yearning, descended upon Sam’s face. “Jack, just because Dean was angry about things, that doesn’t mean he was right about them.” Features softening into the gentle half-smile he wore so often when trying to sooth Jack’s fears, Sam tilted his head a fraction of an inch. “You’re allowed to not like stuff. It doesn’t make you bad.”

In the face of such honest, straightforward kindness, Jack felt only one answer was truly appropriate. “Then I would be happy to try Minestrone Soup.” Perhaps he would enjoy it as much as he had the nougat Clark had introduced him to.

He doubted it, though. He had tried several foods since he was born.  _None_ of them had compared to nougat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Jack settle into cabin life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Apologies for the delay- like I told some of you, updates on this one are likely to be more sporadic than for some of my other fics, I'm afraid. That being said, I really hope you think this chapter is (even if it's just ever so slightly) worth the wait!

The next week passed with surprising ease. On the day after their arrival, Sam got them both up early and, leaving the car from the Bunker covered, they hiked to the nearest town and travelled (using several buses) to meet up with a woman Sam had found on something called “craigslist.” The cheap, slightly rickety car they bought from her (a preventative measure, Sam said, to ensure Dean couldn’t ‘track their plates’) made the trip back to the cabin much easier- and proved even more useful when they stopped along the way to stock up on food, bottled water and various fruit juices. Then, later that evening, Jack watched as Sam checked, repainted, and improved on the cabin’s wards, listening intently as the older man explained what each design meant, and what they either defended against or shielded them from.

After that, and for the first time since before he had first heard the all-encompassing screeching of Angel Radio, it wasn’t long before Jack started to feel somewhat _solid_ and _safe_. Discussions about the wards led to discussions about his powers and, from there, to Sam clearing up the ‘Interdimensional Can Opener’ comment which had been pressing at the back corners of Jack’s mind ever since he’d heard it. With a new understanding of _why_ Sam had been so eager for him to train (and a new sense of freedom in it when Sam also told him that he didn’t _have_ to train- or help- if he didn’t want to), Jack, fuelled by a new sense of clear purpose, threw himself back into the (admittedly still frustrating) exercise of trying to master his latent skills. For one hour every morning, and one every evening, he worked under Sam’s tutelage, fine-tuning his control over the pencil. By day three, he could use it to write large, shaky letters in one of the notepads they’d bought just for this purpose. By day five, those letters had become smoother. Smaller. By day seven, Sam announced that he thought it wouldn’t be long before they could move onto larger items (and, further down the line, to more complicated tasks).

In between the training, they had plenty of downtime. Jack continued to work steadily through the Harry Potter books, while also watching the ‘Clone Wars’ series recommended to him by Netflix. Sam spent his time either on his laptop, reading from the large collection of texts lining the cabin, or working through his daily exercise routine. And, in the midst of all that, they talked. About anything and everything, really- whatever came to mind. The ever-changing order of Jack’s list of favourite foods (though nougat still remained firmly at the top). The moral strengths and weaknesses of the Jedi Order. The life cycles of everything from the yellow-breasted birds (Western Meadowlarks, a google search informed them) which sometimes flew nearby, to the very stars themselves. Sam was knowledgeable about any number of topics, Jack quickly discovered, and what the Hunter _didn’t_ know he was always more than happy for them to research together.

It was during one such discussion on the fourth day, while Sam was telling Jack about which creatures from Harry Potter he knew to be real (and how they differed from their book counterparts), that the subject of potentially going Hunting first came up. Sam seemed uncertain at first- that distant, mournful expression which always cropped up when something reminded him of his brother returning in full force- but nonetheless, after a few minutes of silent consideration, he admitted that maybe going out in the field would help Jack not only to see more of both the world’s good side and its bad, but might also help him in mastering his skills.

Which was why, from that day forth, a third ‘training’ session was added to the afternoons. Sam would provide a topic, or introduce a particular computer skill and, at the end of the hour, Jack would perform whatever test (whether it be a verbal quiz or a demonstration of his digital ability) Sam thought necessary to check his progress.

And every single part of it was _fascinating_. The monsters. The patterns. The stories of old Hunts. (Sam was always careful to stress the importance of nuance, though. No case, he said, was entirely black and white. Even ‘monsters’ had their reasons most of the time, and neither of them should ever let themselves forget that. Remembering how Sam had tried to defend him against Dean’s and Donatello’s judgements, and how eager that had made him to prove Sam right, Jack could say quite easily that he agreed with the sentiment.)

So yes, overall, and much to Jack’s surprise, days spent in the cabin could quite reasonably be described as… fun

The same could not be said, however, for the nights.

Jack found the nights… hard. It was more difficult, somehow, to keep hold of that secure sensation he felt during their daytime activities when all of that ground to a halt and, all alone in his room, the darkness wormed its slimy way in. His body grew too tense, his mind too cluttered. Every flutter of wings from the birds outside marked the arrival of another Angel- another piercing Voice ready to drive him to his knees. Every flicker of light was Asmodeus’ eyes, the Demon come to slither his way in and trick Jack again with more false promises of redemption and peace. Every shifting shadow was Dean, emerging from the dark with Fury in his eyes and a weapon of untold power in his hands. Every whisper of wind was filled with hissed accusations, his mother and Castiel calling from beyond the grave to taunt him with their disappointment- their certainty that they had been mistaken all along, and that he had always been destined to fail and fall and _turn_.

And every hoot or chatter or croak carried in on that wind was Lucifer. Agreeing. Laughing.

Jack really hated nights.

Despite that fact, however- despite the seemingly endless hours it took for sleep to finally claim him each time- Jack found that he didn’t want to mention any of his fears to Sam. Not because he thought the Hunter wouldn’t help (on the contrary, he was fairly certain Sam would do every single thing in his power to fix it), but because… he didn’t want to hurt Sam. He knew how much Sam loved his brother. He knew how much it pained him to have made the choice to move away. And he also knew that, somewhere down the line, Sam was hoping for a reconciliation. That he would never _stop_ hoping for a reconciliation.

How could Jack possibly ruin that hope by admitting that he was, if anything, even _more_ scared of Dean now than he had been before?

It was on day eight, when Jack had just successfully answered Sam’s series of questions about how to identify, locate and stop ghosts, that he noticed Sam eyeing him steadily. Appraisingly. Instead of starting his usual pattern of closing (or bookmarking) the tags (and books) he had been using for his research, Jack halted instead, staring straight back.

“What is it?”

“How would you-” Cutting himself of with a bite to his lip, Sam studied Jack for a moment more before nodding to himself. “Do you think you’re ready to try going on a Hunt?”

Biting back his instinctive, enthusiastic ‘yes’ (because he knew Sam was asking for a more deeply thought-out answer here), Jack considered it. _Was_ he ready? Sam wouldn’t even be bringing this up if he hadn’t already found something he thought Jack could handle, but Sam didn’t know about all of the fears and weaknesses Jack was hiding from him…

He _thought_ he’d be okay at night if Sam was in the same room (which would, he knew, be the case at any motel they stayed at), so hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue. But what if they got separated? And what if he lost control of his powers in some way? Just because he could control a pencil while in a quiet cabin, that didn’t mean the same would necessarily be true during the dangers of a Hunt.

On the other hand, though, what if he _did_ have enough control? What if there was some person out there, right now, who Jack’s powers could save? What if going on a Hunt helped him master the next level of control even faster than they had thought? (He’d almost been able to open that pit for Asmodeus, after all, and his desire to help had been fuelling _that_.)

What if he gained enough control to help Sam get his mom back?

Squaring his shoulders, Jack looked Sam dead in the eye. “I don’t know,” he admitted truthfully. “But I’d like to try.”

The small, proud smile which tugged at Sam’s lips told him he’d answered correctly, and Jack felt his own face respond accordingly. A few moments later, Sam reached down to pick up his own laptop, propping it on one arm as he directed the screen in Jack’s direction. On it were two pages from the same online newspaper- the first with the headline ‘Local man murdered in home’ displayed in clear letters, the second ‘Local woman killed by dead son?’

“Then I guess we’re going to Madison,” Sam said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know that it was originally Dean who found the Hunt in ‘The Big Empty,’ but in this story he’s kinda busy with other stuff. I did, however, decide to slightly adjust the timing so Sam found the Hunt a little later to make up for it- hence the second article.)
> 
> HUGE thanks to everyone who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked and/or subscribed to this fic! You guys truly are utterly amazing!


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